


Un-wedding with a non-Ser

by Maracuya



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Arranged Marriage, F/M, First Time, Humor, Loss of Virginity, Misunderstandings, Sexual Humor, Wedding, Wedding Night
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-12
Updated: 2013-08-22
Packaged: 2017-12-23 06:38:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 12,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/923160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maracuya/pseuds/Maracuya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>King Robert arranged the wrong marriage by betrothing Joffrey to Sansa. Let's give him a second chance for improvement!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [the_moonmoth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_moonmoth/gifts).



> This story was written for the Comment Fic Meme No. 5.  
> the prompt was:  
> Newly wed first time sex, could be from an arranged marriage, a love match or something else. On the wedding night, the morning after, or some time later (for whatever reason the author decides on). Give me awkwardness, exploration and passion. Emphasis on the exploration ;) 
> 
> This version has been corrected and improved by marvellous yavannie82 (THANK YOU!!!/capital letters & exclamation marks, you know why). ;-)
> 
>  
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own ASOIAF. I do not profit from this story, nor would I  
> ever seek to do so. All credit for characters and setting to GRRM.

Sansa remembered the scene as if it had been yesterday, but it had been three years before. The moment when she had been betrothed to this man. It had all started with a completely different topic. King Robert had come to Winterfell. In the crypts, the king had talked to her father. He had expressed his wish to join their families in marriage. Her father had been hesitant. Then, King Robert had said: “Your second daughter, she looks so much like Lyanna. It would gladden my heart to see her as queen one day. And I have a son who will be king after me.”

  
Lord Stark had scowled on hearing that.

  
“Arya is still so young, and I've got an elder daughter as well. Sansa has to marry first, you know.”

  
Robert had laughed: “Oh, Joff and Arya don't have to marry on the morrow – there is still lots of time to wait. And we can find a good husband for your sweet elder daughter, too. If I take away a wolf from the North, I can give you a loyal man from the South. We could hold a tournament, and the winner will be the best protector for your sweet redhead, so he can have her hand. A double betrothal that would be good, wouldn't it? We could have a splendid feast, and our families would be joined even more closely.”

  
From what her father had told her about that scene Lord Stark had not been enthused, but he couldn't decline the king's wish.

  
Some days later, there had been a melee, and all the fighters of the south had tried to win Lord Stark's beautiful daughter. And suddenly, only one man had been left standing. A huge, scarred man they called the Hound, Sandor Clegane. It turned out that the man had not known he was to marry Sansa now, because he had drunk so much and socialized so little the days before that he looked downright shocked when King Robert bellowed that he was now betrothed to Sansa.

  
Her father's and her mother's faces had been ashen then. They had tried to stop the alliance, because the Hound was rather low-born, the second son of a minor house. But King Robert had been in a generous mood and given her future husband a lordship.

  
Arya had raged that she was to leave the north and to be betrothed to Prince Joffrey – Sansa herself had been silent and icy on the inside. Lord Stark had been appointed Hand and had to leave for King's Landing – and had decided to take the girls along with him. Sansa would return to the North with her husband after her marriage, but until then, he wanted to have her in the capital.

  
On the journey south the girls had kept to themselves, both heartbroken and unhappy. Joffrey hadn't cared about Arya, and Sandor held himself apart from Sansa, too.

  
She had not known what to think. She had always dreamed of a glorious, honourable, gallant knight, who would become her husband. The Hound was nothing like that. He was sullen, liked Dornish red, and his language was so coarse, so vulgar. And then his intimidating size, his horribly scarred face and – worst of all – the rage and hatred in his eyes. Her father had tried to end the betrothal again, but King Robert hadn't wanted to hear anything about that.

 

 

 

If the girls had not had their direwolves for consolation they wouldn't have known what to do. In Kings Landing the animals had been put into the Godswood, where they were supposed to be safe. Or rather the people would be safe from them. Sansa often went there, and after her betrothal the splendour of the court couldn't impress her any longer.

  
Soon, King Robert was badly wounded in a hunting accident. It was a miracle that he had survived.

  
Queen Cersei had become pregnant again, and when the child, a boy who was named Eddard to honour Sansa's father, was born, he for once didn't have the golden hair of the Lannisters, but the black hair of the Baratheons. Three days later, Queen Cersei died in childbed, and King Robert got himself drunk and bedded a whore. "My way of mourning her and of seeking consolation", he declared.

  
Sansa was disgusted. Soon after, she'd got her fist moon blood. She knew then that she was a woman, and it wouldn't be long until she'd marry. It was Arya who found out what happened in marriage bed and who told her all the details. They were both sick when they thought of their future husbands. But the younger girl was lucky, as it seemed. In one of his adolescent stupors, Joffrey fell down a staircase and broke his neck. Then, King Robert mourned intensely – and betrothed Arya to his younger son, Tommen. The younger Stark girl still didn't want to marry, but Prince Tommen was at least nicer than Joffrey had been.

 

 

 

And now, it was time. Her mother had traveled south, her marriage gown had been sewn, her maiden's cloak as well... She had been bathed and clothed and adorned with fine jewelery – and she didn't know what to think. She didn't know her husband well. They had barely talked during the years past, and Lord Stark said that that was the best for her – if they had little contact, at least he wouldn't harm her.

  
But tonight... he WOULD harm her. Sansa remembered what Arya had told her. What he would look like. What he would do.

  
“He'll have something between the legs that looks like a gigantic sausage. He's so tall, he'll probably be even bigger than other men. And his manhood will be stiff, and then, he'll push it into the opening between your legs. The first time, it will hurt and bleed, and he'll move in and out, because he has to do it to put his seed into you. Bah. I simply can't imagine Tommen doing that to me. As if I was a mare used for breeding.”

  
Later, Sansa's mother had come to brush her auburn hair. She had been so very sad – and far less specific. She had told her to lie on her back, and to obey and to do her duty as a wife.

  
“It is a task you have to perform, and in return you'll be gifted with children, and there is great joy in motherhood, Sansa. I wish you could experience the... contentment it can bring to people who love each other, like your father and me. But I know you're a good girl and strong, and you will manage.” Somehow, it had sounded more like self-assertion than anything else.

  
Sansa thought is was good that Arya had told her more – although now she was far more afraid of what would happen. Would Sandor be brutal? Would he really be so big that it would hurt more? Would his manhood really... look like that?

 

 

 

Then, they went to the sept. Her father took her arm and gave her to the other man, Sandor. Sansa didn't listen to the procedure, didn't look at her bridegroom, didn't care about the guests and the splendour around her. When they had to say their vows, Sandor's voice was flat and Sansa's very small, as if a bird had fallen out of its nest. Finally, it was done. Her... husband put a hand under her chin so that she looked at the man towering above her, he bowed and gave her a tiny peck on her lips. Sansa managed not to flinch. Her heart was going rampant on the inside.

  
They walked to the Great Hall for the feast. Sansa could barely eat a mouthful, and her mother forced her to drink some wine. It helped to relax a little, but not much. Her husband, the huge man next to her, was taciturn and serious, but at least he tried to use decent language on the few occasions he said something.

  
At some point, they had to dance. Her husband moved awkwardly. He was clearly not accustomed to dancing. When they walked back to the table afterwards, Sansa whispered to him: “My Lord... Husband... I... I have a wish.”

  
Sandor faced her, and his eyes were strangely empty.

  
“Aye?”

  
“Yes, I... erm... please... could we leave silently, without a big bedding ceremony?”

  
“Nobody would want to strip me anyway, don't you fret. And nobody will lay a hand on you.”

  
“He's protective”, Sansa thought and hoped that it was a good sign.

  
After a short break, her father, King Robert and Prince Tommen wanted to dance with her. She obliged, but could neither think nor feel the movements of her feet. Half an hour later, her husband murmured under his breath: "Excuse yourself. Go to the privy. I'll come and meet you there and lead you to the bedroom."

 

 

 

  
Sansa got even more nervous. Her pulse was wooshing in her ears. In a few moments IT would happen. She prayed to the Seven Sandor wouldn't beat her up or be rough otherwise. Her hand flew to her belly, and she felt sick. It was easy to see that she needed to visit the privy. People would think that she didn't only need it for making water, but also for vomiting, in the face of being split apart by a monster like the Hound.

  
So she left. When she came out of the privy again, Sandor was there, his scarred face stern, and he took her hand silently. Her fingers all but disappeared in his big, calloused hands. They were warm, and his grasp was not ungentle. Sansa sent another silent prayer to the Seven Heavens and hoped it was a good omen.

 

*******************


	2. Chapter 2

Fuck, what should he do with that girl? He had been asking himself that question for three years now. After that bloody tournament he had vowed to himself to never drink a drop of alcohol again. If he hadn't been as drunk as a skunk in Winterfell, he wouldn't have won that damned melee, but no, he had had to be a proud fuck, wanting to show everybody he was the best fighter in the Seven Kingdoms.

  
Ever since, he had not touched a single wineskin, even when he had been so sick all the way back to Kings Landing.

  
And now, he was a married man. What a bad jape! She was too sweet and too high-born for him. A maid! He had never had a maid, or even anyone close to that. And now, he was supposed to behave like his thrice-damned gods-forsaken brother and take her though they were unwilling. Oh, yes, he was her bloody husband now. It was his right. People even expected it of him. Fat, drunk King Robert would be annoyed that he didn't get a juicy bedding ceremony, and he would be really pissed off if the Hound didn't fuck this lovely lass tonight. As if that made things any better. Shit. Shit. Shit!

  
He hadn't had much contact with the girl over the last years, always hoping that the king would finally get it that a brutish hound and a delicate wolf were no suitable match, that the monarch would end that blasted betrothal. But no. Fat Robert was as stubborn as a mule.

  
So... what now?

  
Lady Sansa was standing there, right in front of him, next to the bed, and she was shivering and looking at the fire, which was crackling merrily in the hearth.

  
Sandor sank onto the mattress and rubbed his scarred face with his huge hands in despair. Then, he let himself sink back and looked at the ceiling; he tried to think, but in his head, there was only a misty cloud.

  
"My Lord?" the girl peeped up. "How do we... proceed now?"

  
He growled: "Have you been told about the marriage bed?"

  
There was a shy nod.

  
"I... have heard what men look like and... what they do with... with their..."

  
The girl turned as red as a beetroot.

  
"Cock?" Sandor suggested.

  
Another shy nod. Fuck, he wasn't even aroused. How could he possibly take someone who was so very afraid? Of the act? Of him!?

  
He sighed darkly and didn't know how to go on.

  
Sansa kneeled on the bed next to him, very hesitantly.

  
"Should we... take off our clothes?"

  
"For the act it's enough to expose the sexes."

  
As if he wanted to show her the rest of his scarred, ugly body!

  
"Oh. I... see."

  
The chirping little thing didn't have a clue.

  
Suddenly, her face lightened up a tiny shade.

  
"I know something that my parents do, and they like it!"

  
"You know how your parents fuck?"

  
"NO! Oh no... I didn't mean..."

  
Could she get any redder?

  
"Well, what is it then?" he growled.

  
"Can you... can you close your eyes? Please?"

  
Sandor growled again, sighed - but did as he was asked. What the fuck would happen now?

 

 

 

 

He could feel her bend forward. Slowly. Did she have a knife? Did she want to stab him and was afraid of finishing him off? What the in the seven hells was she about to do??

  
She bowed further. There was a tiny breeze in his face. She was so close he could hear her swallow now.

  
Whoa, the girl had guts, if she was able and willing to look at his horrible scars from close up. And now?

  
Suddenly, there was something warm on his lips. Warm and soft.

  
It took the Hound a split second to realise what was happening, because it was simply something he didn't know anything about. It was something he had tried with a whore once for extra coin, but he couldn't even really remember it, as it had been extremely short and even more disappointing.

  
But now... a bolt of lightning shot down his spine, his body contracted, and he was so shocked that he sat up forcefully.

 

 

*******************

Oh... oh no! She'd made a horrible mistake! He was pushing her away! Oh gods, please, hopefully he wasn't really angry with her!

  
She had thought of her parents' kisses and... true enough, she and Sandor didn't love each other, but she had thought it might help... How wrong she had been!

  
She had steeled herself - since he had been lying on his back he had not looked quite as towering and huge as usual. In the short moment when her lips had been on his she had realised that his mouth was surprisingly warm and soft - something she hadn't expected from a hard man like him. Only the scarred corner of his mouth that was usually twitching, had felt leathery... Yet that hadn't been a deterrent.

  
But then, he had pushed her away. He really didn't want her! That was so very different from many other men at court, who kept shooting her lewd looks. Even the king did that! She had once accidentally overheard a conversation between King Robert and Lord Baelish, where the monarch had admitted that he would have liked to marry her himself after Queen Cersei's death, if she had not been betrothed already.

  
Brrrrrr! Then, she'd rather prefer to be... the Hound's... no... Sandor's wife!

  
But her bridegroom despised her. He was staring at her now, and his pupils were extremely dilated. She suddenly noticed that the irises were a deep grey.

  
"Why did you do that?" Sandor snapped at her, and Sansa felt ashamed and on the edge of tears.

  
"I'm so sorry! Really! I didn't want to... unsettle you. I only hoped it would be nice."

  
"Did you now?"

  
The Hound snorted, and she felt hurt.

  
With a sarcastic smirk he went on: "And what was the outcome of your bloody experiment?"

  
Sansa flinched.

  
"I... I'm not sure. It was... too short to know, I think."

  
"Aaaah. Too short, that's it? Well, then come back and have another taste", he taunted her.

  
Sansa was unsure. How did he mean that? Was he honest now, or was it just sarcasm? She was so very bad at understanding male humour! Her father was serious and usually didn't make any jokes, so she had never mastered the japes of other men.

  
Suddenly, however, there was the tiniest spark of anger within her. He could demand from her to do her duty, yes, but she wouldn't let him belittle her! She was still a Stark of Winterfell, even if she carried the name Clegane now! With some determination she neared her face to his again. Slowly, so that he could see clearly that she intended to try it again. "Winter is coming", she whispered.

  
Sandor stopped smirking and looked directly into her eyes, serious now. It was... disconcerting - but he didn't push her away a second time. She couldn't look away from those deep, grey pools. Could those pools be as warm as the ones at Winterfell one day? Her mother had told her it had taken a while to fall in love with her father. Could it be possible here, too?

  
Sansa was still holding her husband's gaze when she carefully laid her lips on his again.

*******************


	3. Chapter 3

His brain signalled feebly: "Repetition of action!" - But otherwise, it wasn't capable of processing what was going on. He had thought he'd scared the shit out of her - and then she had actually hoped it could be nice? Seven hells, that lass was weird!

Suddenly, new information popped up in his brain: "Eye colour - blue. Hair - red, silky. Smell - fresh and sweet. Mouth - tender. Taste - !!??"

Fuck, she was looking at him while kissing him!! What was all that about!?

Slowly, Sansa withdrew, still looking at him, and asked shyly: "Was that... good?"

He uttered a "yes" - and he sounded like a guessing pupil, who didn't really know an answer to a question he had been asked by his maester in a lesson. He even sounded as if his bloody voice hadn't broken yet! Fuck, his ugly rasp sounded even more horrible when it was an octave higher!

Sansa was equally insecure and so red she might glow in the dark.

"Then... should we do it again? Perhaps?"

"Yes. Perhaps."

So she leaned into him again gingerly, and he started to feel her mouth once more. He couldn't stop looking at those unbelievably blue eyes. It was as if he was under a spell. The lass must be a sorceress!

This time, Sansa didn't withdraw as quickly. She kept pressing her lips against his, gently, asking silently if this was acceptable for him. Fuck, he'd rather given his sword hand than to break that kiss!!

Hot and cold waves were sweeping up and down his spine at the same time, his heart was thumping as if it wanted to break through his ribcage, and his breathing accelerated. Not even in his wildest dreams would he have expected his bride would kiss him willingly tonight!

His mouth opened a little to breathe more easily, and Sansa did the same. It was as if she was warming to what they were doing. Without actually ordering his hand to do so it crept into her red hair and unfastened her hairpins with clumsy fumbling moves. Seven hells, he was DROWNING in the blue of her eyes!

She was gasping now as well, and some impulse made her pull slightly on his upper lip with hers. Fuck, did she have sirens in her ancestry!? And then, he didn't know how it happened, the tip of his tongue touched hers. They both twitched in shock and parted with heaving chests.

Sansa was still gazing at him and chirped with a stammer: "You... you've got... swollen lips now..."

Fuck, he could say the same about her mouth! And further down, something else was swelling as well. Seven. Hells.

 

*******************

Oh holy Seven!! Hopefully he didn't think her wanton now!!

Somehow... somehow she had been carried away by that kiss. At first, she had simply registered what he felt like, and her first impression about his mouth had been supported. Then, she had noticed his... taste. It was nothing like lemon cakes, but he had somehow reminded her of her favourite treat nevertheless - it had been a little bit tart, but clothed in a wonderful sweetness. And then his scent... he smelled of wood. It was a smell of the north.

Her heart was dancing. How was that possible?? She barely knew the man, and he had never shown her any sign of sympathy. Quite the contrary, he used to growl at her! But still... This kiss was so different from the one that Theon had stolen from her back in Winterfell. That had been a lifetime ago, and it had been harmless. But her husband's mouth was like some kind of... door... and she had entered.

The strangest thing was that the Hound, the fearsome, battle-hardened warrior, seemed to be... careful with her. Surprisingly gentle. Even... shy! Sansa knew no other word for it, though that concept in connection with Sandor Clegane sounded incredible.

She was breathing heavily, her bosom was heaving - but she didn't get enough air! The laces of her wedding gown had been pulled too tight! She started to feel dizzy, and desperately clawed at her bodice.  
Sandor was puzzled for a moment, that much she could see with her fading vision, and he grabbed her and ripped the fabric apart with his huge, powerful hands. She felt cool air on her exposed upper body and felt a moment's of relief before her world turned dark.

She only came back to her senses when strong hands were grabbing her shoulders and shaking her.

"SANSA?"

She opened her eyes again and tried to focus. Then, she put a hand to her forehead.

"Gods! I told them that that bodice was too tight for me!" she breathed.

"Feeling... better?"

Sandor's voice sounded strange. Throaty.

And then it dawned on Sansa: the cloth had been ripped apart forcefully, to help her, of course, but he now had a plain view of her breasts. She gasped and pressed her hands to her bosom.

Her bridegroom cleared his throat, averted his face and rumbled: "Well, it looks as if you have to undress after all. Here is your nightshift, and over there is a screen."

Sansa nodded, bethought herself and retorted: "And I guess you don't want to sleep with your boots on either?"

The Hound snorted, and she took it as a 'yes'.

She walked behind the screen and peeled off her wedding gown. She looked at the torn fabric. When the others saw it on the morrow they'd think her husband had ripped it apart under completely different circumstances, and they would be horrified with the Hound's temper. If only they knew of his gentle kiss...

Against her will, a strange bubbling rose in her throat, and she started to giggle with a hiccup.

"What, girl?"

Perhaps it was the nervousness of what had happened and of what would happen next, but she giggled again and jested: "Oh, nothing important. I'm thinking of taking revenge. Your shirt would be easier to rip apart than..." Suddenly, her words died on her lips. GODS! What was that? She was behaving like a kitchen wench!

There were heavy steps on the other side of the screen.

Sandor came into view, growling provokingly: "Too late."

Sansa gasped and her eyes became like saucers. Her husband's chest was bare! He was only wearing his... his smallclothes!

 

*******************


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, I hope I've made no major mistakes here. Dead tired after a long, long day, fuzzy in the head and just copying and pasting. If there's anything that doesn't work, please do tell me. *yawn* Ok, cheerio, I'm off to bed. :-)

Seven bloody hells! He hadn't meant it to be like this! The wedding night, and he caused his wife to faint!

  
Oh, and those little teats! Creamy skin, light pink nipples - and when the cool air had touched her there they had even grown a little stiff. With a whore, he had never taken the time to look at those details, but with her... And after her kiss he wanted to... but no, she was a delicate maid.

  
And talking about "stiff" - his cock was aching now. Shit! He was rather taken aback by the strange course of events. Though he had not meant to do it, he found himself walking over to the screen with only his smallclothes on.

  
HRMPH? What was that giggle? Was she laughing at him??? Next, he peered around; he berated himself, but couldn't stop his behaviour nevertheless. His heart missed a beat, but then it started galloping faster than his courser Stranger.

  
Sansa was standing there, naked as her nameday! He could see her lovely teats again, her soft skin, the fuzzy triangle on her mound. Oh fuck!

  
Sandor swallowed hard and his cock twitched its approval.

  
His bride was so red, not only in the face, but also down her neck... WHOA!

  
She tried to cover herself with her hands once more, nodded towards a side table with a washbowl and chittered: "My... Lord Husband! I was... just about to wash myself. You know... I was so warm all evening, and... and the dancing... I was sweating and didn't want to upset you."

  
Sandor swallowed again. He hadn't noticed the tiniest whiff emanating from her, but if she wanted to...

  
The Hound walked over to the bowl, spilled water into it from a jug and took a piece of cloth into his hand.

  
He didn't know what had gotten into him, but he rumbled: "Allow me?"

  
The lass in front of him swallowed, but didn't raise any objections. So he stepped behind her and let the wet cloth trail down her neck, down her arms, down her back, then he knelt, caressed her lovely buttocks and worked his way to her tiny feet. Then he stood up again.

  
His breath was heaving now, and his cock leaking in his underwear. But he could also see her pulse flutter on her lower neck.

  
He wet the cloth again, grabbed around her middle and drew circles on her belly. Why didn't she panic? Run away? Reject him otherwise? He didn't get it.

  
"Raise your arms, so I can reach your armpits."

  
Sansa hesitated a moment, but then did as he had asked her. Seven. Fucking. Hells!

  
He moved the cloth again. When he was done with her armpits, his hands moved to the front, and the wet rag - and his hand - cupped one breast. Sansa gasped and her eyes snapped shut... but she didn't push his hand away, and neither did she protest. So... he lingered there, and then washed her other breast. Her nipples were hard now, he observed. What a sight!

  
Next, he murmured into her ear darkly, trying to use some less vulgar language for once: "We still have to wash you somewhere else. Your private parts, you know? It is good to have you nice and clean there, too."

  
Her breathing faltered. Then, she whispered: "I... I see..."

  
Slowly, he set to work. First, he only brushed the rag over her pubic hair. It was a little darker than the one on her head, he noticed with fascination. After a moment, when she had still not balked, he let his hand and the cloth slide between her legs.

  
Sansa uttered a mewling sound. He stilled and was just about to retreat - when she suddenly leaned back against him for support. Against his chest... and his stiff member.

  
She twitched a little, and new red colour flushed her skin, but she let him be.

  
He was stunned, torn between turning tail and run, and taking her against the wall right then and there.

  
"That... good?" He sounded even hoarser than usual.

  
The question earned him the tiniest nod. So he started to move his hand again, spellbound, and rubbed her nether parts a little more with the wet cloth.

 

*******************

Sansa was so befuddled she didn't know how to react any longer. Shouldn't she be scandalized, or mortified that he touched her in this way? Only she felt strangely... safe. She asked herself how that could be - it was unheard of to be able to feel safe around the rough, angry Hound! But right now... he wasn't rough at all! Neither was he angry. Suddenly, a long-buried picture from the past came alive inside her head: Old Nan, who had taken care of her then, washing her in a big basin. She had always liked to be bathed by the old woman, already developing into the proper little lady.

  
THIS here, however, wasn't proper at all.

  
It was then that her husband touched her breasts with the cloth, and goose pimples were rising on her body. And this was still harmless in comparison to what followed next: he started to wash her DOWN THERE! Oh GODS! She could feel the warmth of his big hands through the wet cloth.

  
Suddenly, Sansa's knees turned to jelly, and she sank backwards against him - only to feel his... oh my... his manhood against her back!! At the same time, she also felt his warm, broad, muscled body. What a sensation! Sandor assured himself that she was alright and continued the washing process.

  
Suddenly, the cloth touched a sensitive spot, and she twitched and moaned.

  
"Did... did I hurt you?" her bridegroom asked, instantaneous worry in his dark, raspy voice.

  
"No", Sansa managed to stammer. "No, please... please."

  
Gods, what was going on with her? She was losing control!

  
Sandor repeated the action, somewhat hesitantly, and he touched that spot again. She moaned a second time and was seeing stars.

  
This time, Sandor didn't stop and continued his outrageous caresses. He now had to put his second arm around her middle to hold her, because her legs couldn't support her any longer.

  
To her utter shame she pressed herself into his hand. She moaned again, and it felt so good!

  
Why had nobody told her? She wouldn't have been so afraid of her wedding night!

  
"You're sensitive", she heard him murmur and didn't know what to answer.

  
"Come", he said, put the rag away and half led, half carried her to the bed.

  
Sansa was still tingling from his ministrations but also getting nervous again. He sat down with her, positioning her on his lap. She could feel his...his manhood again, clearly - this time against her buttocks instead of her back.

  
Sandor spread his legs under her and hooked her own ones over his so that she was even wider open.

  
"What...?" she peeped, new embarrassment coursing through her.

  
"I want to get to know you. Do you know yourself down there?"

  
"Know what?"

  
The Hound chuckled darkly.

  
"If you don't - perhaps we should find out together?"

  
His big hands, which were on her thighs, moved a little inwards, close to her female hair, and suddenly, Sansa felt his mouth on the nape of her neck. Holy Seven, she couldn't say a word, much less one against his suggestion. Her brain went blank.

 

*******************


	5. Chapter 5

Seven. Bloody. Hells.

  
Why the fuck was his bride so responsive??

  
She behaved as if she was his sweetheart and as if she couldn't wait for the next step! Her legs were open and so, so inviting! He hadn't had a woman for ages. You couldn't be betrothed to Lord Stark's daughter and walk around whoring like the blasted Lannister Imp. Over the last three years he had only been at Chataya's house twice, and he had been very discreet. Otherwise, he had used his hands. Fuck, his thoughts ran rampant, and he pictured Sansa putting her lovely little hands around... Oh, for crying out loud!

  
And he still didn't know how to proceed further with a maid. He thought of a soldier named Gronny, who had once boasted: "Y'know, Dog, them maids are so damn tight, ya can't believe it! An' them creamy cunts are jus' callin' for a cock to fill them. Ya jus' need a good startup and drill it in, an' when she's screaming an' bleeding an' wriggling under ya, 'tis so fuckin' wicked ya get even hornier an' want to break in the mare well, haha."

  
The Hound remembered darkly that after that night Gronny had had a broken nose and a tooth missing, but he didn't know how it had come to pass, for he himself had been pissed out of his wits.

  
Anyway, the point of it was that something deep inside of him despised Gronny's words. Aye, he had seen more than one rape during his military campaigns, and it had looked exactly like the soldier's words had made it sound - and there had been absolutely nothing good about it. One reason why he had never participated, even when his blood had been boiling after a battle. With Sansa, it had to be different.

  
Suddenly, he remembered something from his childhood, one of his earliest memories, from even before his face had been scorched by his brother. He had been in the kennels with his one-legged grandfather, and a bitch had had little pups. His grandfather had handed him a pup and said: "Do you know how to treat a dog, lad? You must have a sure hand, but you must also be good to him. And you should know how a dog thinks. It's different from the way you think. If you try to understand him, he'll not only give you loyalty, but also love."

 

 

Well, of course he didn't expect Sansa to fall in love with him, but if he managed to make her feel lust, and if they could establish some mutual acceptance, then it would be better than anything that he had ever dared to dream of.

  
He kissed the nape of her neck and started to run his fingertips through her pubic hair, and Sansa gasped, but didn't try to get away from him.

  
He murmured into her ear: "Do you know that you've got lips down there, too?"

  
"What??"

  
Sansa's head snapped around.

  
He chuckled again.

  
"Aye, and not only two, but four."

  
She looked at him with disbelief written all over her features.

  
"You jest!"

  
Sandor could only think that she had to be rather relaxed, if she dared to address him like that.

  
"No, lass. I'll show you."

  
He moved his fingers a little deeper and trailed along her folds. Her flesh was silky. Sandor had never taken his time to do something like that with a woman - and it was as thrilling for him as it must be for her!

  
"See, these are the outer lips. And here... ", Sansa gasped once more, "... are the inner lips."

  
"Holy Seven!" his bride breathed, and there was rumbling laughter deep in the Hound's chest.

  
"Should we try to find your sensitive spot again? The one I touched over there with the washing cloth?"

  
Sansa's embarrassment was bloody endearing to behold, he found. After a moment, she gave a tiny nod.

  
Sandor had only heard of that special spot, but wasn't exactly sure where it was, so he asked: "Do you remember where it felt good? Can you guide me?"

  
Sansa uttered a little squeak in the face of such an outrageous suggestion... but after a hesitating moment, she put a trembling hand on his own, big one, and her index finger on his.

  
"It was here, more or less...OHHH!"

  
Well, obviously they had found her little lust point, and he started to run his calloused finger over and around the little nub. In no time, Sansa fell against him, limp and writhing, her eyes hazy, her little teats heaving from her rugged breathing, and Sandor couldn't help himself, and his second hand sneaked up and stroked and teased her there, while he playfully bit the nape of her neck. Between her legs she was wet now, and it had nothing to do with the previous washing.

  
Fuck, his wife was in ecstasy! At his own hands! Who would have ever believed that?

  
His own cock was hurting now, but he didn't want to interrupt this lovely experience, and he kept on caressing her.

  
Suddenly, Sansa arched wildly into his hands and screamed out her release, so loud that surely the whole Red Keep knew they were on... intimate terms now. There were always spies who were eavesdropping.

  
But seven hells, he had never made a woman peak, he was rather sure of that, even if the whores he had known had acted as if it had been different. Fuck, Sansa was... literally glowing from joy! Sandor could feel her spasms with his hand now... and suddenly, it was too much for him, and he released into his smallclothes as if he was a green boy.

 

*******************

OH. HOLY. SEVEN!

  
Sansa's body contracted, and utter bliss exploded from between her legs and rolled in waves all through her body.

  
GODS. OH GODS!

  
She couldn't think, had completely lost herself to that unbelievable, glorious feeling.

  
Somewhere, she heard a dark moan and felt some contractions under her body, but it was a long way away. And it only heightened the intensity of her own feelings, and she moaned even more, unable to stop herself. For a moment, she saw white.

  
Her body went slack against the one behind her. Then, she heard a dark, vulgar curse; strong hands took her and laid her on the bed, while the other body stood up.

  
Sandor. Sandor. Husband. Sansa's mind started to clear again, and she opened the eyes she had pressed shut for an instance.

  
"What... what are you doing?" she squeaked, shame suddenly welling sky-high. Oh no! She had behaved improperly! Like a... a loose woman! Now, her husband was surely disgusted!

  
But then, The Hound turned around, and there was a tiny, twitching smirk on his scarred face.

  
"Coming back to your senses? Sounded as if you had a lot of fun. Well, I did. It was even too bloody much fun for me - I've just fucked it up, sort of. But never mind. The night is young, and we'll catch up."

  
Catch up? What...? Did he want... to do this again?? Or what did he mean?

  
Sansa was completely at a loss.

  
She saw Sandor walk behind the screen and heard the splattering sound of water and the wet cloth. What was that? Was he dirty, too? Then why had he not had a wash in the first place?

  
When her husband reappeared, Sansa's eyes went wide as saucers once more this evening.

  
Holysevenhewasnakedohgoooooooods...

  
She knew she shouldn't stare at his manhood, but after Arya's description... and after what she had felt...

  
Well... nobody had told her about the hair there, but it corresponded to her own triangle in a way. Nobody had told her about his... balls either - though she had heard men referring to them in coarse language.

And his member... well, somehow it was similar to the description she had been given, but not quite. And... some moments before he had felt so... substantial... but now looked rather... soft. How strange.

 

*******************


	6. Chapter 6

Somehow he had expected her to faint again, only this time from shock, when she saw the full amount of his scarred ugliness. But Sansa only stared at him silently - impressed, but nowhere near screaming or trying to run. She looked a little confused at most. Her lips were still so very red in the aftermath of her peak. Fuck the Seven, he really wanted to kiss her again!

  
But suddenly, her facial expression changed, and she looked angry. The Hound had never seen Sansa Stark angry, only ever like a well-balanced lady.

  
"What?" he rasped at her.

  
And Sansa curled her lip as if she were a wolf, and she positively snarled: "Nobody told me!"

  
"Told you what?"

  
"That a woman can feel so much joy. That touches can feel so... so good. My septa told me I MUSTN'T come close... you know... THERE... because... because it was a dirty place. Morally dirty, I mean. My father didn't tell me what it's like to be with a man, he left it to my mother. And my mother only told me I should lie back and endure what would be done to me and be happy to become a mother. If I had not heard... elsewhere what a man looks like I wouldn't have even known THAT. And I believed it would be horrible and... hurt, and I would... bleed... and you would just put your... m... m... - - - manhood into... into..."  
Sansa faltered, glowing with embarrassment again.

  
Sandor knelt on the bed, surprised, and rumbled: "Well, perhaps they didn't because they thought it would just be as horrible as you've described it. If they had told you it could be lovely and we had not just experienced this...episode... you'd have been bloody disappointed."

  
His bride was puzzled now.

  
"But... but THEY know about these things, don't they? Shouldn't they know that... that you're... you're wonderful."

  
The Hound blinked. He must have misheard.

  
"WHAT!?"

  
He was hovering above Sansa now and brought his scorched face directly in front of hers.

  
The lass didn't so much as flinch, and the ire in her eyes was suddenly replaced with a softer expression. What the fuck was that now? Was he getting soft in the head - or what???

  
The next moment, she shyly placed her delicate hand on his chest and let it trail through his pelt there. She looked into his eyes again, lifted her head and kissed him once more. As if it was the normal thing to do. Sandor knew then that he'd have released now, if he had not done so before. What the fuck did this lass see when she looked at him?? Couldn't be his real self, could it?

  
Suddenly, she got self-conscious and started to fidget.

  
"What now, girl?"

  
"Oh my Gods!" She was shocked now and close to tears. "I need to wash, too!"

  
"Why?"

  
"I have... Oh nononono, I have...made... water on myself..."

  
Sandor moved back a little in astonishment and looked at her in the torch- and candlelight.

  
"Can't see anything."

  
Sansa uttered a tiny sob. "But I'm wet all over...down there. Oh, please don't look!"

  
Sandor barked a short laughter: "Nah, don't you be afraid, lass, that's no urine! That's your love juices. They're normal, and they're good. They make things go more smoothly."

  
Sansa looked up at him in disbelief, still as red as a bloody lobster.

  
"Really?"

  
"Aye! I still have to enter you, and that is easier when you're slick down there."

  
"Enter?" Sansa was bewildered now.

  
The Hound shrugged.

  
"Seven hells, what had you thought?"

  
He lay down next to her body and propped himself up on an arm. Suddenly, Sandor remembered something a whore had once said to him: "Ah, good man, I must really admit I've seen men with cocks smaller than your fingers. If you're anything, then it is impressive."

  
Well, that was an exaggeration, Sandor assumed, but still something crossed his mind now.

  
"It may still hurt, but perhaps we can prepare you so that it is better for you. What do you think?"

  
Sansa looked at him as if he was a grace sent by the bloody non-existent gods.

  
"Oh. Yes. Of course. Please!"

  
Sandor growled and rasped lowly: "I'll test you with a finger first, before I put something bigger in."

  
"Something... bigger?"

  
"Well, my cock, of course."

  
"Oh. Er. Hmhm."

  
Whoa. The way she could STILL blush, after all, was a flaming wonder. Sweeeeeeeet. Sandor grinned inwardly, and the corner of his mouth started to twitch.

 

 

 

Another idea struck him.

  
"You've got smaller fingers, you don't know your body yet, which you should, and you know yourself best when it starts to hurt. You should begin yourself."

  
Sansa was shocked.

  
"You can't mean that seriously?"

  
"Why not? I'm your husband; I want you to get the most out of this - and I would love to watch you."

  
His bride was breathing heavily again.

  
"You want to... watch me... do this???"

  
Sandor was really warming to the idea now. He nodded.

  
Sansa uttered a whining sound. This went against all the things that had been drilled into her pretty head.

  
After more than a minute, she placed her hand on her mound, ever so slowly.

  
Even if it didn't show on the outside Sandor's blood started to boil again. He could watch her fingers sneak into the right direction. She looked at him then with her blue, blue eyes, silently asking his permission, and he stroked with his thumb over her cheek. If anybody had told him anything close might happen this night with his bride he'd have beaten him to a pulp in the training pit.

  
Gingerly, Sansa's finger trailed her opening, after she had found it, and finally slipped in. She didn't make a sound, but her eyes grew even wider than they had already been.

  
"Does it hurt?"

  
"No", Sansa breathed, and his own heart hammered along with hers.

  
She removed her finger again and looked at the glistening moisture coating it. Then, she seemed to remember he was watching and rubbed the finger on the linen.

  
"My turn?" Sandor asked. Sansa looked at him and didn't know how to respond.

  
So he just rasped: "Try to stay relaxed down there. That will help."

  
She nodded feebly, and he set to work.

  
Sandor furrowed his brow. He had never seen or touched a maiden's membrane, but he didn't come across much of an obstacle at her entrance. Well, it was clear she had never been touched by a man, maidenhood or no maidenhood, and perhaps things would be easier for him and his size without. Carefully, he slid deeper. Further up, there was a mewling sound.

  
"Pain?"

  
"No. Foreign."

  
Seven hells, that much was clear. Within she was so very tight, even without the problems at the entrance. He moved his hand slowly and tried to widen her as best he could. When Sansa relaxed and started to hum somewhat contentedly, he added another finger.

  
Sansa gasped.

  
"Pain?"

  
"Un... uncomfortable. I feel... stretched."

  
"Try to relax and breathe evenly."

  
Fuck, how could any man come up with the idea of simply thrusting into a maid??

  
But then again, men were monsters. During a battle he was one himself. But not now. NOT now. It was actually good he had released - in that way he was more patient than usual.

  
He started to caress her little nub with his thumb again, and he could feel her go slack around his fingers. Good. Very good indeed. He was getting hard again, and after what they'd been through until now, he finally wanted to feel his bride properly, in spite of what he had told himself earlier on.

  
When Sansa was moaning again he removed his fingers, and she actually uttered a tiny sound of protest! Fuck the Seven, if he had needed anything to kindle his lust again it was this! He positioned himself between Sansa's legs and started to rub his tip against her entrance.

 

 

 

Then, he started slowly to push. Sansa stiffened under him.

  
"Try to relax", he rasped again.

  
Inch after inch she started to give way. He pressed a little and a little more. Fuck, this was no task for an impatient man of action like him!

  
But his bride's eyes were wide open, and he could see how she tried to trust her body to him. That in itself was madness, but it made him at least try to live up to her expectations. He managed to enter a little deeper.

  
Seven Hells, why did other men think pushing into a maiden was so very great!? This was complicated! At least if one didn't want to hurt the woman in question.

  
"Everything all right?" he gasped.

  
Sansa's lips were slightly parted, and she was crimson red.

  
"It's...strange..." she breathed.

  
"Painful?"

  
"A bit... uncomfortable. But. Not bad. Not really."

  
Thrice-damned seven hells of shit! Sandor was desperate, but he gave her another moment to adjust. Then, he resumed his slight pushing. She gave way another little bit. He didn't want to think of how difficult or painful it would have been, if she had had a complete membrane. To distract his bride, he bowed deeper and kissed her again, hoping it would be acceptable for her. To his surprise, she was only too willing to be distracted, and suddenly, her hands were in his dark, long hair, trying to get him him even closer.

  
Shit, that was overwhelming!

  
The fact that down there, where they were in the process of getting joined, she was so very warm and tender and sweet didn't make his task any easier. He propped himself up so he wouldn't crush her with his huge body.

  
And then, it was finally done, and he was completely sheathed.

  
Seven. Bloody. Hells.

  
They were looking into each other's eyes again. He had never looked intensely at a whore, and more often than not, the women had averted their faces. Or he had. Or it had happened in a dark corner or room. This was so different!

  
Sansa uttered coyly: "You're... you're... big."

  
Sandor cleared his throat: "One can... say so. Especially... for... a maid."

  
"And... now?"

  
"Well... we're supposed to... bloody enjoy the... closeness... I'd say."

  
"Oh."

 

*******************


	7. Chapter 7

Enjoy the closeness??

  
Holy Mother, what exactly was she supposed to enjoy about this? She felt like a stuffed goose for Sevenmas!

  
But she couldn't tell her bridegroom, of course. He was trying to be nice, Sansa could see that. And somehow, it seemed to be stressful for him, too.

  
So she tried to collect herself and to be nice as well. At least his kisses were still sweet. She held onto them, which Sandor seemed to approve of, and somehow, their tongues touched again.

  
They gasped. And tried again.

  
Sansa's pulse was fluttering like mad. He tasted... good!

  
Sandor grunted, and moments later, his tongue was getting more and more curious and passionate. So she elicited a moan as well. And she simply couldn't help it, but her hands started to roam his muscled torso.

  
Before she could get far, though, her husband groaned deeply and started some grinding movements down there.

  
"I'm bursting", she thought desperately.

  
And then, it happened. With one of his movements, he touched another unknown sensitive spot, but this time within her. With a cry, her body snapped against his, and Sandor's eyebrows lifted.

  
"Bad or good?" he rasped.

  
"Good", Sansa whimpered.

 

*******************

  
Sandor memorized the spot and the movement immediately - and nudged that place again in the same way.

  
Sansa almost jumped out of her skin, and her arms flew around him, crushing her body to his.

  
Erm... he had to correct himself now. She wasn't just sensitive. She was extremely sensitive.

  
"Oh Gods, that's too good!" she uttered shakily.

  
Suddenly, Sandor gave her his widest Houndish grin, and the corner of his mouth twitched.

  
"When it's too good, it's just right!" he growled darkly, with a strange spark of merriment in his voice... and he repeated the action.

  
"SANDOR!"

  
Seven bleeding hells, she was even calling out his name in arousal! Whoa. The movements themselves gave him little friction in comparison to what he was used to, so he could still go on without losing control for quite a while. But there were other things now, things he had never experienced with a woman, and he meant to enjoy them as long as possible.

  
Sansa was as beautiful and tender as the Maiden herself, her auburn hair spilled across the cushions in sparkling waves, and he simply had to comb through it with his calloused fingers. Her scent, oh bleeding Stranger, her scent was divine. Her hard little nipples and her soft little teats grazed the hair on his scarred lower chest, or rather upper abdomen. And all the while she tried to look him in the eyes. Only in those moments when lust was overwhelming her, she blinked and closed them for an instant.

  
What the fuck had he done to be blessed with such a lovely bride??

  
Oh. yes. Right. He had got pissed and missed the reason for a tournament and won it. For the first moment ever since that time was he grateful that fat King Robert was such a stubborn dolt!

  
Sandor ground himself into his bride again and nudged her internal sensitive spot once more. She jerked and moaned loudly, and he drank that sound from her mouth with a hungry kiss. And didn't stop what he was doing.

  
Seven bleeding hells!

  
After only few minutes he had her as taut as a bowstring, in complete disarray, she was literally sobbing and weeping from sheer bliss and couldn't even utter coherent words any longer.

  
It was a little strange, because Sandor still wasn't close to release, but that glorious sight he was granted with was maddening, nearly drove him insane - and then, he felt something surge he hadn't believed he possessed in greater quantities any longer: pride.

  
Many men thought themselves to be outstanding lovers as soon as they were able to push a cock into a cunt and stay there for longer than a minute. Sandor had never understood that notion. Nor had he considered himself to be anywhere near a halfway decent lover. And he had not cared, honestly, because the whores had not cared either; they had just given him the relief he needed and taken the money they demanded.

  
His sweet bride demanded something else. She wanted a good husband, though he was a poor choice for that job, to be sure. And right now... she wanted to come a second time. Even a blind old rooster could see she was close.

  
So he sneaked a hand between their bodies, found that little nub again and stroked it with his finger, while he ground himself into her again.

 

 

 

"Aaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!!"

  
Sansa exploded into him with a yell, so wildly that he was completely taken by surprise and was accidentally catapulted away from her. But his wife didn't even notice; her eyes rolled up while her body was writhing in spasms.

  
For a split second, Sandor was worried that something was amiss, but then she relaxed - and dozed off within a minute.

  
The Hound was stunned. He had heard women complain that men fell asleep too soon after the act, but that it could be the other way round...

  
"Must have something to do with the bloody peak," he guessed. The problem was - he himself was still hard. Well. He couldn't ask his wife again, she was clearly drained. Sandor swore under his breath... and resorted to his hands. Hopefully, they'd improve their timing over the next years!

  
After some fast, focused rubbing and pumping his seed shot out and drenched the linen. When he looked closer, he saw that only his own blotches stained the fabric. No blood.

  
He bit his lip. He knew damned well that Sansa had been untouched, but the bloody servants might gossip on the morrow if they didn't find any red blotches. So he grabbed his dagger, pricked his finger and smeared two or three little drops into the linen, close to where her bum was resting.

  
Next, he put the dagger away and grabbed the blanket. It was a big one that was meant for two spouses. Or one big Sandor. He gave off an annoyed rumbling sound and tried to cover them both as best he could.

  
To his amazement, Sansa curled up against him, put an arm around his middle and mumbled, still more than half asleep: "I love you."

  
Sandor's heart skipped a beat - only to hammer away an instant later.

  
Bleeding Stranger, what was that!?!?

  
Well, of course she didn't love him, he had simply fucked her senseless, but still...

  
Her words had carried a genuine warmth. And he hadn't believed a woman would ever say that sentence to him, to him, the ugly, scarred brute of a dog - even less such a divine lass like the one who was now in his arms!

  
It took Sandor a moment to realise that his cheeks were wet. And another one to realise why.

 

*******************

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The term "Sevenmas" refers to the following wonderful piece of fanfiction: http://archiveofourown.org/works/677547/chapters/1241093 .


	8. Chapter 8

Hmmmmmm. It was so warm and nice and cosy in bed. Lovely. Sansa felt a body next to her. Had Arya slipped into her chamber and into her bed? When the two girls had left Winterfell they had been sworn enemies, so to speak, but over the years in the south things had changed a lot - also due to their unwanted looming betrothals. Sometimes, they had thought that they only had each other and the direwolves. So they had developed an awkward closeness.

But wait. Arya wouldn't entwine her legs with her. And this body was... BIG. Far too big to be her sister.

When Sansa opened her eyes she looked at... a broad, muscled, hairy chest. A MALE chest. And the first morning sun shining into their bedroom highlighted numerous scars.

Sansa's mind came fully awake with a jolt, and her body twitched as memories of the previous night were washing over her.

Oh. Holy. Seven.

This was her husband. And they had... and SHE had... Oh GOOOOOODS!!!

She felt so deeply ashamed of how incredibly wanton she had been. Like an animal!

Then she remembered what Sandor had done. What he had felt like. Against her will, her body started to tingle again. Though she felt rather raw and sticky now down there. Was there any water left for washing in the jug?

"Mmmmm," she heard a dark, growling voice above her head. "Already awake? You're an early bird, lass!"

Sansa looked up and flushed a deep red when she looked into his gray eyes.

"You're awake as well!"

"I'm a bloody soldier to the core. It's the normal time for me. And I sleep lightly and can feel any twitch."

One huge hand combed through her tousled, auburn hair and her husband rumbled on: "Hope you could sleep well. Everything alright?"

Sansa swallowed and answered, not sure if she could be so outspoken: "My sleep was fine. Only now...my tummy hurts a little, and I feel a little... raw."

Sandor shot her a slightly worried look.

"Well... I guess that's normal. For the first time, I mean. I bloody hope so. We'll see, perhaps you should call on the maester later on, if it doesn't get better."

Sansa nodded shyly, blushing even deeper. Then, she felt Sandor take hold of her chin so that she had to keep looking at him... and he arched down and put his lips on hers.

Oh.

Oh my...

Ohhhhhhhh.

A thousand butterflies were fluttering in her body now, and her arms went around his neck by instinct.

But then, her womanhood clenched and hurt.

Sandor went rigid when he noticed and rasped: "That's not good. Let's look."

"No, San..."

Too late. He had already pulled away their blanket.

And both their eyes widened in shock.

"Oh fuck!" Sansa could hear her husband bark, and she wanted to crawl into a hole in the earth and die with shame.

 

*******************

Bleeding Stranger, what was that!?!?

Now he knew where that well-known stench of copper was coming from!!!

Their bodies and the linen looked as if they had slaughtered a hare between their legs during the night! So much blood! Fresh, congealing as well as dried.

FUCK!!!

"Seven flaming hells, what's THAT?" he gasped in shock.

He was surprised that his bride actually came up with an answer: "I think... oh my... I think it's my... My moon blood is early..."

That shut him up for a moment. Then: "Ah. That explains a lot. But... do you always bleed so much?"

Sansa whimpered.

"That's... different. But... please... it's a woman's topic."

"PAH! I've seen severed limbs and heads on the battlefield, and I have WADED in blood there. Those few red blotches can't make me faint. How other men can fight in wars and then blanch and stuff their ears and refuse to hear a sodding thing when their women bleed in a normal rhythm is a mystery to me. - Come, let's wash ourselves with the remaining water, and then we'll look into your chest with clothes. I guess there is some... equipment there for this case."

Sansa nodded, and Sandor set to work matter-of-factly.

*******************


	9. Chapter 9

Sweet Mother! He was so understanding! In his own grumpy way. But that was good. He wasn't like a fussing septa, who would have panicked on seeing her moon blood. And after what had happened at night Sansa was so very ashamed that she didn't want to meet a servant yet.

Sandor went over to the bowl, washed the bloodstains from his own body, wet the cloth again and came over to her. Then he rummaged in her chest.

"Hope you don't mind", he growled, "but you needn't come around and bleed on the floor, if you ask me."

Sansa asked herself if the red colour would ever leave her face again. Then, she looked at her husband. The man they called the Hound. He hadn't bothered himself with putting on clothes so far, and she could look at him in broad daylight now.

"Seven help me!" she thought. He was gigantic. From head to toes. His hands alone were like shovels. And the play of his muscles as he was leaning over the open chest. Unbidden, she asked herself what that must have looked like while he had been... with her... Gods, what was she thinking!! That was so improper for a lady.

The problem was that she couldn't stop herself looking at him. His long, dark, lank hair was falling into his face, so he didn't notice her gaze.

But, oh, his body! With his chiseled physique and the crisscrossed pattern of scars he looked like the Warrior come to life! And somebody so powerful and magnificent was her husband now! Sansa had not seen it from that angle before. Her hands itched to run through the dark, curly chest hair. Seven help her, she was getting wanton!

Sansa felt ashamed.

At the same time, she thought: "He could have crushed me so easily. How very, very careful he must have been with me!"

Sansa sensed a strange kind of warmth seeping into her heart.

 

Some minutes later, she had arranged herself with Sandor's help and was finally ready to be waited upon. Sandor slipped into fresh underwear, put on a clean tunic, trousers and boots. Afterwards, he fastened his swordbelt.

Then he rasped: "While you're getting dressed and having your hair done, I'll slip into the kitchens, get myself a hearty snack, order you a decent breakfast and meet King Robert. He'll be annoyed because there was no bloody bedding ceremony, so I've got to appease him with some sodding vulgar pun, something about a dog burying a treasured boner. Then, he'll laugh and dismiss the whole affair. And next, I'll go to the training yard. I guess you'll want to meet your family, right?"

"Oh yes, that's right!"

Though Sansa wasn't enthusiastic about Arya needling her with questions about whether a manhood really looked like a sausage, but still.

"Fine", Sandor rumbled. He gave her a slightly awkward pat on the shoulder and went on: "Erm. Yes. Then... I'm off. Hope you'll manage. See you later!"

He turned on his heels walked out, and Sansa thought: "Well, that wasn't very romantic... but he doesn't seem to know how to do it in a romantic way." She giggled. He had taken his leave as if she was a friend, a comrade-in-arms perhaps. Well, she'd have to show him how to do it better!

Outside the door, she heard him bellow with his steel-on-stone voice: "Squire! Where are the Lady Sansa's fucking maids?? - WHAT!? Still asleep after the wedding!?!? - Yes, of course she's already awake!! I want those damn maids to be here within five minutes and to make my wife spick and span, or they'll have to suffer the wrath of the Hound and I'll stuff their aprons into their big, fat, lazy arses!!!"

Sansa suppressed a squealing sound. Now, she remembered why she had been afraid of her husband during the wedding. What, in the name of the Seven, had happened that he was so wonderful towards her??

 

"Oh, my lamb! My poor little lamb!!!"

Her mother was rushing at her as soon as Sansa entered the Great Hall. And her Lady Mother had red, puffy eyes, she was sallow and weeping besides. Sansa had thought herself to be a little pale herself due to her moon blood - but her mother was far worse off!

And Lady Catelyn was really extraordinarily strained; she crushed her daughter to her bosom with a sob, not caring if anybody from Kings Landing was watching.

"I have already heard! Oh my poor little sweetling!"

Sansa was dumbfounded.

Erm. Poor? What exactly had she missed??

Suddenly, it dawned on her.

The torn wedding gown. Loud sounds from the bedroom at night. Moans to be precise. Lots of blood on the bed. The Hound's notoriously bad reputation - plus his gigantic build...

Oh holy Seven! Oh gods! They must all think she had been mauled by Sandor!

"Mother, I'm fine!" she managed to say.

"Oh, my brave, strong girl! Oh, my sweet little Sansa!" her mother quacked.

"No, really, I'm fine! You don't need to weep", Sansa insisted... and suddenly asked with a rising dark premonition in her guts: "Where's Arya?"

"She's a good girl... " What? Arya GOOD?? "... and she's gone with your father to support him."

"But... where?"

"Oh, to the training yard."

Sansa put two and two together. If her mother was thinking she had been abused her father and her sister were thinking the same. And at the training pit...

SANDOR!!!!

Sansa got a shade paler than she had been already, couldn't say a word from shock, tore free from her mother with surprising force, spun on her heels and ran with billowing skirts - in a very unladylike way, actually - to the training pit as if she was beset by the fire demons from the seven hells.

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	10. Chapter 10

Sandor was grumpy. Fat King Robert was nursing a bloody hangover rooted in the wedding feast, there were still two or three loose women around the monarch, and he hadn't emerged from his quarters yet. So Sandor had gone to the training yard right away. He put on light armour and headed for the training dummies. There were extremely few men around at this early hour, and those who were looked as if they had been dunked in grime and puke and were simply awake, because they hadn't found their beds yet. They had seemingly all over-indulged in the alcohol at the wedding feast. In the days of old the Hound would have been one of them, but now, he could only snort deridingly at those sodding fools.

After half an hour, he had warmed up nicely. His thoughts slowly started to return to the "warming" aspects of the past night. Mhhhhh, how lovely and sweet it all had been! And what an incredible surprise! To be honest Sandor could barely wait for his sweet little bride's moon blood to be over. His own blood started to pump faster when he thought of their first time. If there were any seven heavens, they were to be found in his wife. Seven bloody hells, the way she had moaned!! And exploded against him!!

Well, even if he had to wait four or five days now until they could renew these kinds of intimacies there was still quite an assortment of divine offers to be had from her in the meantime. Maybe, he couldn't enter her - but he could touch her everywhere else... and he was so very hungry to do so. Her mouth alone was a well of joy and lust. He had never known a thing about kissing, but now, that had changed completely. Frankly speaking, he didn't only want to kiss her mouth - he wanted to kiss and to nip at and to nibble and to lick and to suck at every single inch of Sansa's delicious body. There was a lot of kissing he had to catch up with after all these lonely years. And after last night, there was hope that his wife would welcome those touches. He pictured himself feasting on her little teats and on cupping her buttocks with his huge hands, imagined her gasps and whimpers... and got so very hard that he was happy that the ugly, scarred Hound was ignored by the others.

He breathed deeply and tried to concentrate on his exercises again.

It wasn't easy. Not at all. But he was a damned good warrior, honed by years of deadly combat, and somehow he managed to focus again.

Just in time.

 

 

"YOU MONSTER!!!! THE OLD GODS SHALL DEVOUR YOUR INTESTINES!!!"

What the fuck was that?

Sandor spun around - and saw his goodfather, Lord Eddard, run at him with a drawn sword and a face that was contorted in seething anger. In his wake was this bloody wolf-bitch Sansa called a sister, and she looked just as wrathful.

The Hound was confused for a moment, because he didn't know what was going on, or why the Warden of the North was attacking him and calling him a monster.

However, his survival instincts sprang into action, he composed his body and gripped his sword fiercely.

With a horrible clash, Lord Stark struck his first blow. Arya was standing nearby, a small sword in hand and ready to use it in case of need, as it looked.

Sandor grunted and didn't even manage to ask what was wrong. Lord Stark rained a series of blows on him that would have killed a lesser fighter within minutes.

As it was, the Hound was in fact able to defeat his goodfather - the problem was that he couldn't want to kill him... but just defending himself wasn't probably enough and likely deadly in the long run.

What the fuck was going on here???

Sandor didn't have the time to ponder about it, and his tactical thinking only told him he should try to let his goodfather wear himself out, and then, things could probably be finally sorted out.

Bang! Bong! Clank!

Their bodies spun in a lethal dance, so different from the harmless ones at the wedding feast.

Hopefully, Lord Stark got tired first...

 

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	11. Chapter 11

OH GODS!!! This was a nightmare! Sansa could see the horrible scene that was unfolding in the training yard. Her lungs were burning, and she was panting so heavily that she couldn't even shout. Never had she been so unladylike: she just dived under the ring-fence and ran to where her father and her husband were fighting.

Arya came into her direction with a cold, self-righteous smirk on her face and snarled contentedly: "Father will finish this monster off, don't you worry!"

NOOOooooo!!!

That was what Sansa thought - but no sound came over her lips, apart from her heaving gasps.

Without even thinking twice she ran towards the fighters and threw herself against her father, tackling him forcefully so that he lost his footing.

 

*******************

 

Fuck the Seven, what was SHE doing here!?!?! Sandor re-directed the last blow of his sword, or he would have hurt her. She was lucky that her father's bloody sword wasn't in her way either.

But what in all the seven hells was going on? Was Sansa mad??

Interestingly, Lord Stark looked just as thunderstruck as himself.

"Sansa! Girl! You could have been injured easily! Please go, I'll settle this. I shouldn't have allowed this marriage, I know, but I'll settle this for you. Now."

But Sansa only stared wide-eyed at her father and gasped: "Don't! Touch! Him!"

Now, Lord Eddard looked even more confused than before.

"Sansa, you've got a gentle heart, so very gentle, but I won't allow this horrible brute to lay a finger on you again, I swear. Better make you a widow than let you endure this horror."

The Hound could see Sansa shake her head wildly, but she was panting so heavily that she still couldn't talk.

So she just looked him in the eyes, and to his surprise he saw fear and panic there. A second later, she just let her father be, ran towards Sandor himself...

... And then, she jumped up, threw her arms around his neck, clung to him madly and kissed him desperately, right in front of her family.

"You're alright? Please, tell me you're alright!!!" she finally managed to whimper.

Sandor was so shocked by her open signs of affection that he suddenly found himself sitting on his arse in the dirt of the training yard - and his wife still didn't let him go.

While he stayed mostly focused on his bride he was able to notice the most interesting sight from the corner of his eyes; if he had ever seen owlish looks on a human's face it was now on the ones of Arya and Eddard Stark... and it was then, that he started to grin inwardly and kissed Sansa back, just to prove his point.

"I'm fine", he growled.

The same instant, a slurred, dark voice bellowed: "There are the lovebirds who denied me my bedding ceremony! What the hell are you doing there? You shouldn't mistake this yard for your mattress!"  
They all knelt hurriedly for King Robert.

And then, Sandor rasped: "Oh, it's nothing. I was just enjoying a training fight with my goodfather."

The king chortled: "You wanted to prove that you're even fearsome and aggressive after some nightly jousting, is that it? Well then, go ahead."

 

One month later, things had more or less fallen into place and they had developed some kind of routine. If you could ever call making love to Sansa "routine", that was.

This morning, the sun was shining, and the naked form of Sandor's lovely wife was nestling against his scarred body under the blanket. They were both sated and drowsy. At least for the next thirty minutes or so.  
"Sandor?"

"Aye?"

"I've got a question."

"Then ask, for fuck's sake."

"You see, I know you don't keep any gods. But... we were married against our will. Plus I can't remember anything from the ceremony in the sept. Please... could we marry again? In the North? In the Godswood? In front of the Old Gods. And the direwolves would be there as well. It will also be good when we arrive back at Winterfell, you know?"

There was a sudden lump in Sandor's throat.

"Are you fucking sure you want this?"

"Yes."

"Oh. My. Love. - - I would do anything for you!"

Sansa smiled, her eyes were radiating pure joy, and she gave her husband a melting kiss. Another one.

It was then that Sandor knew he had turned from the most desolate to the happiest man on earth.

 

\- THE END -


End file.
